Sunday, August 7, 2011
34th Annual Headden Family Reunion
On Sunday, August 21, 2011, we will have the Headden Family Reunion at the Coastal Electric's "Outback" building on Hwy 15 North in Walterboro, SC. This is the second location in the last two years. We're trying to find a place that is inside and air conditioned, large enough for a band and 100 or so people. Oh, and cheap. The school we used last year was good, but no longer cheap. In any case, I hope to you there this year.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Let's hear your story
I haven’t written a blog in quite a while. Maybe it’s “writer’s block”. In any case, if you are related or connected to the Headden family in some way and want to contribute to this blog, then send me an email and I will tell you how to get your story on this blog. I would like to hear stories about you or your memories of different family members. Thanks for reading, Robert.
Monday, September 20, 2010
The 33rd Headden Family Reunion
On Sunday, September 12, 2010, we had the 33rd annual Headden Family Reunion. “Before we get started, let me tell you where the restrooms are.” Then the Master of Ceremonies, Cousin Tex Roberts, went on to explain about the registration table, the auction items table and the memorial table. Everyone had already found where to put the food. Cousin Calvin Fletcher said grace and the eating started. Eating seems to be the central activity at most family reunions. There was a lot of good food for everyone to nibble on while they talked to family members they had not seen in a long time.
When you haven’t seen some relatives in years, you can be sitting next to them and not have a clue who they are. There are a lot of my relatives that I wouldn’t remember because I was just too young the last time I saw them. I didn’t remember Uncle Lee Headden’s children who were a little younger than me. I do remember going to Moncks Corner where they lived. I remember priming the hand water pump in their front yard and the taste of the water I drank from it, but I don’t remember them. For some reason, when I think of going to Moncks Corner to see Uncle Lee as a child, I think of a Ferris wheel. Maybe we went to a fair when we were there. I don’t know.
Tex went down the list of all of Granddaddy Lewis Headden’s children and asked who was there from each family. Someone was there from all but one family. There were also over 100 people in total. Unfortunately, the last of Granddaddy Lewis’s children, Aunt Roberta Barnes, passed on last year. The “baby boomers”, my generation are now the ones fading into the sunset. We were kids and we played together. We grew up and went our own ways to make our lives. Now it feels good to sit together and talk about those days before we went our separate ways.
Eddie and the Cadillacs played some great country music. The band was lead by Eddie and Ernest Headden. Their father was Uncle Kenneth (Caney) Headden. A number of family members have been big fans of music. One of the interesting items on the memorial table was a guitar owned by Uncle Shep Headden. His grandson, Leroy Headden, brought it for us to see. I don’t remember if it was the same guitar that Uncle Shep played, but I remember going with my father, Foch Headden, to his house and listening to them record music. I was too young to understand how it worked, but we were with Uncle Shep in one room while he was playing the music and someone was in another room with a recording machine. I’m pretty sure they were playing some Hank Williams songs.
I talked to as many of my relatives as I could. I met new relatives. Some of them told me about things that are going well and some told me about things not going so well. I hope the next family reunion finds everyone in a better situation. Thanks to Alroy, Janis, Dale, Tex, Azalea, Eddie, Ernest and others for making this year’s reunion enjoyable for the rest of us.
When you haven’t seen some relatives in years, you can be sitting next to them and not have a clue who they are. There are a lot of my relatives that I wouldn’t remember because I was just too young the last time I saw them. I didn’t remember Uncle Lee Headden’s children who were a little younger than me. I do remember going to Moncks Corner where they lived. I remember priming the hand water pump in their front yard and the taste of the water I drank from it, but I don’t remember them. For some reason, when I think of going to Moncks Corner to see Uncle Lee as a child, I think of a Ferris wheel. Maybe we went to a fair when we were there. I don’t know.
Tex went down the list of all of Granddaddy Lewis Headden’s children and asked who was there from each family. Someone was there from all but one family. There were also over 100 people in total. Unfortunately, the last of Granddaddy Lewis’s children, Aunt Roberta Barnes, passed on last year. The “baby boomers”, my generation are now the ones fading into the sunset. We were kids and we played together. We grew up and went our own ways to make our lives. Now it feels good to sit together and talk about those days before we went our separate ways.
Eddie and the Cadillacs played some great country music. The band was lead by Eddie and Ernest Headden. Their father was Uncle Kenneth (Caney) Headden. A number of family members have been big fans of music. One of the interesting items on the memorial table was a guitar owned by Uncle Shep Headden. His grandson, Leroy Headden, brought it for us to see. I don’t remember if it was the same guitar that Uncle Shep played, but I remember going with my father, Foch Headden, to his house and listening to them record music. I was too young to understand how it worked, but we were with Uncle Shep in one room while he was playing the music and someone was in another room with a recording machine. I’m pretty sure they were playing some Hank Williams songs.
I talked to as many of my relatives as I could. I met new relatives. Some of them told me about things that are going well and some told me about things not going so well. I hope the next family reunion finds everyone in a better situation. Thanks to Alroy, Janis, Dale, Tex, Azalea, Eddie, Ernest and others for making this year’s reunion enjoyable for the rest of us.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Headden Family Reunion
I will post a story about the annual Headden Family Reunion on Monday, Sept 20.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
THE HEADDEN FAMILY TREE IS AVAILABLE FOR VIEWING
I HAVE UPLOADED THE HEADDEN FAMILY TREE TO THE ANCESTRY.COM WEBSITE. IT CAN BE VIEWED ON THE SITE, BUT YOU NEED FOR ME TO SEND YOU THE LINK. SO IF YOU WANT TO LOOK AT IT, SEND ME YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS AND I WILL SEND YOU AN INVITATION FROM THE ANCESTRY.COM WEBSITE. IF YOUR FAMILY IS NOT ON THE TREE OR IT'S NOT COMPLETE, SEND ME THE INFORMATION AND I WILL ADD IT TO THE TREE. AS OF TODAY, I HAVE ABOUT 1000 PEOPLE IN THE FAMILY TREE. THAT INCLUDES OTHER CONNECTED FAMILIES. MY EMAIL ADDRESS IS:
Robert Headden
anydaythisyear@gmail.com
Robert Headden
anydaythisyear@gmail.com
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Early Years More Hanover St
I remember a couple more things about Hanover St. I think I was about 3 years old at the time. One day I was playing on the sidewalk in front of the house. There were two tricycles out there, but I don't remember either of my brothers being there with me. One of them was probably out there earlier, but went somewhere else to play. So I somehow hooked the tricycles together with a rope. I got on the one in front and pedalled down the sidewalk. A couple of houses further down the street the street ended and there was a fence. The fence was made from tall boards and one of the boards was missing. Sometimes people would come through the fence apparently because it was a shortcut. When I got to the fence, I couldn't get the tricycles turned around. About that time, a man came through the whole in the fence and scared me. I left the tricycles and ran for the house screaming. I guess that's what you would expect from a kid that hides behind the couch during a thunderstorm.
My older brother always found more creative ways to get in trouble. There was an old garage in our back yard. Dad parked his car back there and my brother was drawn to mechanical things even at that age. I guess he found some paint in the garage one day and proceeded to paint the headlights on Dad's car. After many years of practice, he finally got good enough at painting cars that he could do it without painting the headlights.
My older brother always found more creative ways to get in trouble. There was an old garage in our back yard. Dad parked his car back there and my brother was drawn to mechanical things even at that age. I guess he found some paint in the garage one day and proceeded to paint the headlights on Dad's car. After many years of practice, he finally got good enough at painting cars that he could do it without painting the headlights.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The Early Years Hanover St
My earliest memories were when we lived on Hanover St. in Charleston, SC. As I recall the house was a one and a half story house. My Uncle, my Father's brother, and his wife lived up stairs. There are a few things that stand out in my memory of those times. My baby brother had a scary fall down the stairs one day. I think he was trying to get up the steps on his hands and knees as he was barely able to walk. I have been accused of trying to take him up stairs by his hand and let him go when we got to the top. Since I don't remember, I am sure that is not true. Anyhow, he fell down the steps and the one or two teeth he had punctured his bottom lip. I think he still has a scar.
I don't know if Moms still tell kids these kinds of things, but there was a thunderstorm one day and lightning and thunder was popping all around the house. We were scared and I remember Mom telling us that if we didn't settle down and be quiet, the lightning would strike us. So we got on the floor behind the couch and shut our mouths. I still get behind the couch during a thunderstorm.
I don't know if Moms still tell kids these kinds of things, but there was a thunderstorm one day and lightning and thunder was popping all around the house. We were scared and I remember Mom telling us that if we didn't settle down and be quiet, the lightning would strike us. So we got on the floor behind the couch and shut our mouths. I still get behind the couch during a thunderstorm.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
How We Made Money
I have been working on four other Blogs and two web sites, so I haven't had much time to work on this Blog. Here is a link to "Myrtle Beach Explorer" and here is a link to "Is This Your Money?"
My brothers and I found ways to make money at an early age. The earliest “job” I had was selling newspapers. At about 8 years old, Mom would loan me 50 cents and I would walk uptown to the Press and Standard office and buy 10 weekly newspapers. My route was the streets on the way home. There were a few people that were regular customers each week. Some didn’t have the 10 cents for the paper and they would “owe” me. I stopped by one of my Aunts every week and she would usually pay me with a coke. By the time I got home, I wouldn’t always have enough money to pay Mom the 50 cents I owed her. If I had known Don would have turned out to be good at business, I could have hired him to be my business manager.
The next “job” that I can remember was in the cotton fields next to our house. I was about 9 years old and we had moved from in town to the country where it was too far to walk to get the weekly newspaper and sell it. Anyway, I was getting burned out on that job and was ready for a career change. This new job wasn’t the kind of job where we had to get hired. There was a man with a scale and a truck that he kept parked on the dirt road that ran through the field. Anyone could just walk into the field and pick cotton and then take it to him to have him weigh it and pay for it. The first time that the field was picked, we might get about 1 cent a pound for it. Then, as the cotton thinned out from subsequent pickings, it would go up to about 4 cents a pound. I could tell fairly quickly that this new job was what people called real work. Even though it was probably costing me (or Mom) 10 cents a week for me to sell newspapers, I was beginning to doubt my decision to change careers. We soon realized it was also taking a toll on our play time. Fortunately, at this point in our careers, nobody cared if we showed up for work anyhow.
At about 11 or 12, we got jobs setting up pins in the bowling alley of a place called the Rifle Club. It was a private club and we had to have a Social Security card to work there. I don’t know why we needed a SS card. If they withheld any money, it never showed up on my SS record in later years. Back then bowling alleys were only partly automated. After each bowler threw the ball, we would have to quickly pick up the ball and put it in the return chute and then pick up the pins and load them in the pin setter. Then we pulled a cord and the pin setter would lower the pins into position and stand them up on the alley. That was the only part that was automated. We had to do this all before the ball got back to the bowler. So we had to be fast or we wouldn’t be put on the schedule to work anymore. Most of the time there would be enough “pin-boys” as we were called to set the pins in each alley. There was a small step type opening between two adjacent alleys where we would position ourselves when the bowler threw the ball. This would give us some protection against being hit by the pins when the ball knocked them into the pit at the end of the alley. How chaotic the pins acted depended on the bowler. There was one bowler that we called Superman. Whenever he bowled, we feared for our lives. He threw the ball so hard the pins would sometimes fly over the backstop of the pit or come into our protected step area. I remember being hit by pins when he bowled and having bruises the next day. Sometimes, we would be short of pin-boys and we would have to set pins in two alleys. We got double pay then, but it was hard to set pins fast enough to do both alleys. The good part about setting pins in two alleys by yourself was that you didn’t have to keep an eye on the other pin-boy. One night Ron was setting pins in one alley and another pin-boy (it may have been me, I don’t remember) was setting pins next to him. Ron and the other pin-boy attempted to put the balls in the ball return chute at the same time and Ron’s finger got caught between them. I cringe when I think about it. Stuff squirted out of Ron’s finger and he appeared to be in considerable pain for a while after that. What with child labor laws, kids just don’t seem to have those kinds of character building opportunities these days.
My brothers and I found ways to make money at an early age. The earliest “job” I had was selling newspapers. At about 8 years old, Mom would loan me 50 cents and I would walk uptown to the Press and Standard office and buy 10 weekly newspapers. My route was the streets on the way home. There were a few people that were regular customers each week. Some didn’t have the 10 cents for the paper and they would “owe” me. I stopped by one of my Aunts every week and she would usually pay me with a coke. By the time I got home, I wouldn’t always have enough money to pay Mom the 50 cents I owed her. If I had known Don would have turned out to be good at business, I could have hired him to be my business manager.
The next “job” that I can remember was in the cotton fields next to our house. I was about 9 years old and we had moved from in town to the country where it was too far to walk to get the weekly newspaper and sell it. Anyway, I was getting burned out on that job and was ready for a career change. This new job wasn’t the kind of job where we had to get hired. There was a man with a scale and a truck that he kept parked on the dirt road that ran through the field. Anyone could just walk into the field and pick cotton and then take it to him to have him weigh it and pay for it. The first time that the field was picked, we might get about 1 cent a pound for it. Then, as the cotton thinned out from subsequent pickings, it would go up to about 4 cents a pound. I could tell fairly quickly that this new job was what people called real work. Even though it was probably costing me (or Mom) 10 cents a week for me to sell newspapers, I was beginning to doubt my decision to change careers. We soon realized it was also taking a toll on our play time. Fortunately, at this point in our careers, nobody cared if we showed up for work anyhow.
At about 11 or 12, we got jobs setting up pins in the bowling alley of a place called the Rifle Club. It was a private club and we had to have a Social Security card to work there. I don’t know why we needed a SS card. If they withheld any money, it never showed up on my SS record in later years. Back then bowling alleys were only partly automated. After each bowler threw the ball, we would have to quickly pick up the ball and put it in the return chute and then pick up the pins and load them in the pin setter. Then we pulled a cord and the pin setter would lower the pins into position and stand them up on the alley. That was the only part that was automated. We had to do this all before the ball got back to the bowler. So we had to be fast or we wouldn’t be put on the schedule to work anymore. Most of the time there would be enough “pin-boys” as we were called to set the pins in each alley. There was a small step type opening between two adjacent alleys where we would position ourselves when the bowler threw the ball. This would give us some protection against being hit by the pins when the ball knocked them into the pit at the end of the alley. How chaotic the pins acted depended on the bowler. There was one bowler that we called Superman. Whenever he bowled, we feared for our lives. He threw the ball so hard the pins would sometimes fly over the backstop of the pit or come into our protected step area. I remember being hit by pins when he bowled and having bruises the next day. Sometimes, we would be short of pin-boys and we would have to set pins in two alleys. We got double pay then, but it was hard to set pins fast enough to do both alleys. The good part about setting pins in two alleys by yourself was that you didn’t have to keep an eye on the other pin-boy. One night Ron was setting pins in one alley and another pin-boy (it may have been me, I don’t remember) was setting pins next to him. Ron and the other pin-boy attempted to put the balls in the ball return chute at the same time and Ron’s finger got caught between them. I cringe when I think about it. Stuff squirted out of Ron’s finger and he appeared to be in considerable pain for a while after that. What with child labor laws, kids just don’t seem to have those kinds of character building opportunities these days.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Shouldn't We Practice More?
There was a period of about ten years when I engaged in a lot of adventures. One Sunday I got up and headed for an airport south of Atlanta. They were giving lessons on parachuting. When I got there a group of about 6 of us started practicing jumping from a platform. We were learning how to hit the ground and roll. This is supposed to absorb some of the impact of the landing. After about 2 hours of this, to my surprise, the instructor said we were ready to parachute.
The airplane that was to take us up was relatively small. All the seats except for the pilot's seat were removed from the plane. This would be what is called a static line jump. That means one end of a line is attached to the plane and the other is attached to the parachute. When we jumped from the plane, the static line would tighten up and pull the rip cord of our parachutes to open them. We put on our parachutes with the main chute on our backs and the reserve chute in front. The right hand door of the plane was removed. Three of us got in the plane along with the pilot and the jumpmaster. There was very little room for all of us. I was the second one in which meant I would be the second one to jump.
As the plane took off, my head was spinning with all the things the instructor had told us that morning. It was a list of "what if this happens" sort of things. What if the parachute doesn't open, what if the parachute lines get twisted, what if we landed on the runway or in the trees. The one I was worried about was "what if I can't find the emergency rip cord handle if the main chute doesn't open?" I recited these "what ifs" over and over in my mind and then we had arrived at the jumping spot.
I thought to myself that at least I'll get to see the guy in front of me jump first. Then I heard him yelling over the sound of the air rushing by because there was no door on the plane. He was telling the jumpmaster that he wasn't going to jump. The jumpmaster pulled him over out of my way and told me to slide forward. We were all sitting on the floor so I slid to the open door spot. There was a foot step on the strut that supported the right wing. The jumpmaster attached the static line to my chute and told me to put my right foot on the step on the wing strut. As I moved to do that I was now outside the plane facing forward and holding on to the wing strut. The jumpmaster gave me the signal to jump and I let go of the plane. For the few seconds before the parachute opened, my only thought was that of terror. Then my fall was interrupted with a jerk as the chute opened. I immediately felt myself twisting and I looked up to see the parachute lines wrapped. Fortunately I could see it was unwinding itself and I didn't have to do anything to correct that problem.
This was the fun part of parachuting for me. I looked around at the fields and all the earth below me. It was eerily quiet as I floated down. Then I realized I needed to be guiding the parachute to the bullseye on the ground. By pulling cords on the right or left side I could direct the glide of the chute in the right direction. I was approaching the ground much faster than I expected and then suddenly I hit hard. I had landed on the hard runway. This was one of the "what if list items". If I land on the runway, get off of it immediately to keep from getting hit by a plane that may be landing. I was in pain. My right ankle felt as if it were sprained. I got up and began hopping and gathering up my parachute. When I was clear of the runway, I stood on one leg and finished getting my chute contained. Then I hobbled back to the shed where the instructors were. It was about a quarter of a mile away.
When I got to the shed, I took off my boot and my ankle was badly swollen. One of the instructors put an air splint on my left leg. I left my car at the airport and caught a ride to the hospital back in Atlanta. When I got to the hospital, the xrays indicated that I had broken my right ankle and lower leg. I still have a screw in my ankle from that adventure. That was my first and last time to parachute.
I am adding this paragraph after I reread the blog. I would have just corrected it, but it reminded me of what happened later in the hospital. If you noticed, I said that I hurt my right ankle and leg. Then I said that an instructor put an air splint on my left leg. I did break my right ankle and leg and that's the leg the air splint was on. When I got to the hospital they put a plaster of paris cast on my right leg. To put the cast on, they attached my toes to a frame above the bed with something that looked like Chinese finger cuffs. That was when I finally asked for some pain killers. Later, when I was laying on a gurney outside the operating room with the cast on my right leg, a nurse came up and asked me which leg was supposed to be operated on. Wouldn't that have been obvious?
The airplane that was to take us up was relatively small. All the seats except for the pilot's seat were removed from the plane. This would be what is called a static line jump. That means one end of a line is attached to the plane and the other is attached to the parachute. When we jumped from the plane, the static line would tighten up and pull the rip cord of our parachutes to open them. We put on our parachutes with the main chute on our backs and the reserve chute in front. The right hand door of the plane was removed. Three of us got in the plane along with the pilot and the jumpmaster. There was very little room for all of us. I was the second one in which meant I would be the second one to jump.
As the plane took off, my head was spinning with all the things the instructor had told us that morning. It was a list of "what if this happens" sort of things. What if the parachute doesn't open, what if the parachute lines get twisted, what if we landed on the runway or in the trees. The one I was worried about was "what if I can't find the emergency rip cord handle if the main chute doesn't open?" I recited these "what ifs" over and over in my mind and then we had arrived at the jumping spot.
I thought to myself that at least I'll get to see the guy in front of me jump first. Then I heard him yelling over the sound of the air rushing by because there was no door on the plane. He was telling the jumpmaster that he wasn't going to jump. The jumpmaster pulled him over out of my way and told me to slide forward. We were all sitting on the floor so I slid to the open door spot. There was a foot step on the strut that supported the right wing. The jumpmaster attached the static line to my chute and told me to put my right foot on the step on the wing strut. As I moved to do that I was now outside the plane facing forward and holding on to the wing strut. The jumpmaster gave me the signal to jump and I let go of the plane. For the few seconds before the parachute opened, my only thought was that of terror. Then my fall was interrupted with a jerk as the chute opened. I immediately felt myself twisting and I looked up to see the parachute lines wrapped. Fortunately I could see it was unwinding itself and I didn't have to do anything to correct that problem.
This was the fun part of parachuting for me. I looked around at the fields and all the earth below me. It was eerily quiet as I floated down. Then I realized I needed to be guiding the parachute to the bullseye on the ground. By pulling cords on the right or left side I could direct the glide of the chute in the right direction. I was approaching the ground much faster than I expected and then suddenly I hit hard. I had landed on the hard runway. This was one of the "what if list items". If I land on the runway, get off of it immediately to keep from getting hit by a plane that may be landing. I was in pain. My right ankle felt as if it were sprained. I got up and began hopping and gathering up my parachute. When I was clear of the runway, I stood on one leg and finished getting my chute contained. Then I hobbled back to the shed where the instructors were. It was about a quarter of a mile away.
When I got to the shed, I took off my boot and my ankle was badly swollen. One of the instructors put an air splint on my left leg. I left my car at the airport and caught a ride to the hospital back in Atlanta. When I got to the hospital, the xrays indicated that I had broken my right ankle and lower leg. I still have a screw in my ankle from that adventure. That was my first and last time to parachute.
I am adding this paragraph after I reread the blog. I would have just corrected it, but it reminded me of what happened later in the hospital. If you noticed, I said that I hurt my right ankle and leg. Then I said that an instructor put an air splint on my left leg. I did break my right ankle and leg and that's the leg the air splint was on. When I got to the hospital they put a plaster of paris cast on my right leg. To put the cast on, they attached my toes to a frame above the bed with something that looked like Chinese finger cuffs. That was when I finally asked for some pain killers. Later, when I was laying on a gurney outside the operating room with the cast on my right leg, a nurse came up and asked me which leg was supposed to be operated on. Wouldn't that have been obvious?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
What do you mean you're REALLY going to Viet Nam?
This is the last post about my trip to El Paso. For some reason, my memory of this part of the trip is very fuzzy. So I called Ron to see if he had a better recollection of the events than I did. When he started talking about the migraine headache I got when the car broke down, I knew his memory was faulty, too. When I told him that the way I remembered the trip just didn't make sense, he said "well, that's the way we did things back then."
Rather than take that nice air conditioned Greyhound bus back to Georgia, Don, Ron and I hooked up his 57 Chevy to his 59 Chevy convertible and towed it back to Georgia. As Ron explained it, the 57 Chevy was to provide parts for the 59 Chevy to make the trip. That turned out to be exactly what happened.
I was driving and it was dark. We were in the middle of the Texas desert and I could see the lights of a town way off in the distance. Ron and Don were asleep and I noticed that the headlights were getting dimmer. Ron is the mechanic, so I woke him up and told him what was happening. By this time, the lights were almost out and if I shut the car off, the battery would not be strong enough to restart it. But we didn't have a choice. Ron said the generator was bad and we had to take the one off the "parts" car and put it on the one we were driving. So that's what we did. During all this time, only one or two cars had passed us. Now with the generator installed, we tried to flag down a car to jump start the 59 Chevy. We had a few near misses when cars veered around us as we stood in the road trying to flag them down. I suppose they thought we were banditos trying to rob them. We eventually got a car to stop and got our car running again.
We drove the rest of the night and we were getting close to Georgia the next day when the rearend of the 59 Chevy started making a noise. We stopped and Ron got the tools out and he and Don started taking the rearend out of the 57 Chevy. This is when he claims I had a sudden migraine headache. If I did, that was the time to have one. This was a big job. Eventually we were on the road again and we made it to Moultrie. What a trip! Then Ron took all the scavenged parts off the 59 Chevy and put them back on the 57 Chevy and drove it back to Texas. Or did he drive the 59 Chevy back to Texas. I don't remember, but when he got there, he learned that he was going to Viet Nam for sure. Apparently, he wasn't sure he was going before then. So he drove his car back to Georgia, left it with us and took the bus back to Texas. Then he went to Viet Nam. We made an unnecessary trip to Texas, wrecked a car, had a miserable trip back to Georgia, and had a falling out the Ford dealer and never did get that new Mustang. On the other hand, we had an adventure, bought some priceless art in Mexico and got to see Ron before he went to Viet Nam. Well, that's the way we did things back then.
Rather than take that nice air conditioned Greyhound bus back to Georgia, Don, Ron and I hooked up his 57 Chevy to his 59 Chevy convertible and towed it back to Georgia. As Ron explained it, the 57 Chevy was to provide parts for the 59 Chevy to make the trip. That turned out to be exactly what happened.
I was driving and it was dark. We were in the middle of the Texas desert and I could see the lights of a town way off in the distance. Ron and Don were asleep and I noticed that the headlights were getting dimmer. Ron is the mechanic, so I woke him up and told him what was happening. By this time, the lights were almost out and if I shut the car off, the battery would not be strong enough to restart it. But we didn't have a choice. Ron said the generator was bad and we had to take the one off the "parts" car and put it on the one we were driving. So that's what we did. During all this time, only one or two cars had passed us. Now with the generator installed, we tried to flag down a car to jump start the 59 Chevy. We had a few near misses when cars veered around us as we stood in the road trying to flag them down. I suppose they thought we were banditos trying to rob them. We eventually got a car to stop and got our car running again.
We drove the rest of the night and we were getting close to Georgia the next day when the rearend of the 59 Chevy started making a noise. We stopped and Ron got the tools out and he and Don started taking the rearend out of the 57 Chevy. This is when he claims I had a sudden migraine headache. If I did, that was the time to have one. This was a big job. Eventually we were on the road again and we made it to Moultrie. What a trip! Then Ron took all the scavenged parts off the 59 Chevy and put them back on the 57 Chevy and drove it back to Texas. Or did he drive the 59 Chevy back to Texas. I don't remember, but when he got there, he learned that he was going to Viet Nam for sure. Apparently, he wasn't sure he was going before then. So he drove his car back to Georgia, left it with us and took the bus back to Texas. Then he went to Viet Nam. We made an unnecessary trip to Texas, wrecked a car, had a miserable trip back to Georgia, and had a falling out the Ford dealer and never did get that new Mustang. On the other hand, we had an adventure, bought some priceless art in Mexico and got to see Ron before he went to Viet Nam. Well, that's the way we did things back then.
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